


Galad

by Preda



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle, Fantasy, Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preda/pseuds/Preda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil-galad's fateful battle with Sauron in the heart of Mordor is the stuff of song and legend. A short drabble describing the fall of Sauron, and the deaths of Gil-galad and Elendil.</p><p>This was my first attempt to write a long action scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Galad

“ _Children of Morgoth,_ " he bellowed as he ran through two of the creatures, " _run back to the Pit! And make it ready for your dark Master, for he will be along shortly!_ ” He swung himself around, and the still shrieking orcs flew off the rod of his spear and into a pack of their brethren, clearing them off of Alleseo. The warrior rose without delay, to dispatch those around them that were still moving.

Gil-Galad Ereinion, the Scion of Kings, thought in that moment that it was going well. One might have thought him mad for it (and indeed there was no certainty that he wasn’t, after so long and bloody a struggle), but such advance for them was unhoped. After what seemed like eternities of battle, here they were, seven years into the Siege of the Dark Tower, penetrated deep into the realm of the enemy, carving a path of destruction behind them.   An offensive of this magnitude had not been seen since the fall of Angband, and now the quest of the Great Alliance seemed to be fast approaching its conclusion.

He shuddered to think of the cost paid. In Mannish, Dwarven, and Elven ranks alone, the dead numbered in the tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands. Unheard of.  _Abominable_ . The land itself was stained irreparable with their sacrifice, and with the blood of more orcs, evil Men, and other dark spawn than he had even known existed.

Mordor had never been a very welcoming land, but she had been alive once. Green things had grown here, between the mountains, on the nourishing slopes of the Cone of Fire, even after the Abomination had taken residence. He was no fool, and wisely had chosen a fertile place for his kingdom. No more. The Enemy’s sorcery had turned the Cone into a cauldron, pouring fumes and ash into the skies. The Sun shone dimly, or not at all, over what was now truly a Land of Shadow. It had been a cunning move, both giving an advantage to the dark-dwelling Uruki and cutting off light to the Mirrors that had so helped the Alliance’s offensive. Now only his Aeglos, his spear, and Celebgil, his shield, shone with the reflected light of the Sun, bright and blinding to the Foe even beneath their curtain of clouds.

The morning had been quiet, and indeed little signalled the onslaught that was now upon them. The fastness loomed before them, miles from the Allied camp, its walls straight and vast, immovable even after years of assault. The Gates had opened, and presently the renewed hordes of Sauron issued forth. An army like this would have been a thing terrible to behold on any other day, but again, Ereinion saw hope in it. The Enemy was acting in desperation. The primary host of Men had flooded the many miles of tunnels to the south the previous week, cutting off the routes of whatever supplies that trickled into the Tower.   Sauron now faced defeat if he could not break the siege. That had been the great vision of Elendil, Nimruzîr, King of the Men of Westernesse, to lure the evil one out of his fastness before his strength was gathered. The players were assembled, and the final act was nigh. Gil-Galad could have scarcely hoped for better fortunes. The southern host of Men was due to return that day, bringing to bear all the remaining might of Gondor and Arnor on the ranks of the savage horde.

He looked about. Behind him, on the cliff-peaks, wolf riders assailed the Lady Galadriel and the archers of Lorien and the Greenwood. The Lady was singing Power even as she shot at them, and before long Gil-Galad felt the ground shake and heard the goblins shriek as the very land beneath their mounts slid away and swallowed them. The rear was secure.    

To his left, the king heard cackles of laughter rising above the shrieks and curses of orcs. It was Glorfindel, the Twice Born, Flame Slayer. He had cast himself into their midst, his hungry sword blazing with goblin-light, and to their ears his cheer and mocking rang like the cry of wraiths; many simply fled from him, only to be put low by his host. A little farther, Lord Elrond had arrived to the side of Isildur Elendil’s son. His warriors surrounded the Prince, shielding him from the troll pack that had surprised his guard. But a mere rescue this was not, for the Prince and his rose fiercely, using Elrond’s attack to flank the beastly things. As Gil-Galad arrived to their aid they were already riding on the trolls’ backs, stabbing away at the thin hides of their necks, felling them.

Desperation this was. The Enemy’s assault, massive and relentless, was doomed to failure. Even had their siege  been surprised and broken, the Men of Elendil would bring the end to these orcs. Gil-Galad wondered about the Enemy. Why had Sauron himself not issued forth, to aid his ranks as he had in the deep past.

As if in answer to this thought, a shriek, high-pitched and shrill, echoed behind him, and his blood froze. The Elf King turned, and there He was, a figure clad in black armor, tall and very terrible. The land he stepped upon was scorched with the heat of his footsteps. Sauron came through the gates, charging into the pack of daring dwarves that had been trying to seal them. With a swing of his mace their ranks were shattered, and broken bodies flew burning through the poisoned air, turned to ash before they’d even hit the ground. Hosts of armored trolls covered their Master’s march into the field and presently the remaining orcs and goblins were gathering to Him. Before long, Lord Glorfindel, no longer laughing, was upon them with his. The vast beasts swung their blades, casting away the elven warriors by the dozens. Gil-Galad signalled to his fellows, and swiftly he ran to the Lord’s aid.

_Elvenking_ , spoke the Abomination as they approached, His calm yet threatening voice somehow rising beyond the shrieks and bellows of battle,  _How like you my hospitality? More worthy it is, I think, than that what thou shewed me long ago when I came to you!_

His gloat was broken before long, however, for Glorfindel himself was upon him! Sliding like water between the legs of a falling troll, he appeared before the Enemy, and their blades rang together, thunderous and wild. The hulks surrounded them but did not intervene, hoping but to prevent the King’s reinforcement as the combined hosts of the Great and the Wise of Middle-Earth descended upon their common Enemy.

On any other day, in any other battle, Gil-Galad would have discarded his shield by now, to better make use of Aeglos. But as the last of the Mirrors, it was invaluable in their attack; he turned the light on the wall of foes, blinding them as Isildur and Elrond and theirs came upon them, hewing at their legs and arms. As the monsters fell like trees before a reckless axe, the Lady Galadriel descended from the cliffs, her archers and preventing any approach on the flanks from the regrouping orcs. Soon the Free Hosts would be surrounded by the sea of evil things pouring out of the Tower and off of its walls. Victory hinged upon their reaching the Elflord now battling their foe. Against the roars of battle and the wild shrieks of blinded goblins Gil-Galad listened for the song of the Lady. He could hear her voice ring out as if from many leagues away, and knew then with a heavy heart that her songs, though mighty, were not enough in the presence of Sauron. Indeed she knew this too, for soon the singing stopped, and instead the King heard new shrieks and bellows under the fall of a new sword; her quiver had run out.

The thundering grew faster, and heavier as well, and through the dwindling ranks of trolls he saw the armored Figure bending over his prey. Glorfindel lay on his back, his sword still swinging to deflect each blow that beset him, but more wearily each time. The plate on his chest glowedred now, and Ereinion thought his mighty comrade may soon be cooked inside his armor if none came to his aid.

Finally Glorfindel’s defense fell, and the Enemy cast aside the blazing sword of the Elflord, and with one hand picked him up; the armor shimmered under his blazing touch.

_Ladhagnir, killed by fire. Save him, Elvenking, or I will smite this one now_ , he heard, and recklessly, Gil-Galad charged the remaining beasts with his shield before him. They shrieked under its fierce gaze, one even turning to stone before breaking into dust. He did not hear Elrond’s cry that day, nor any day after:  _DON’T!_

At length he broke through their ranks, and with a cry, he rammed Sauron in all his might. The Maia, in his arrogance expecting an attack much weaker, buckled and released his grip as he fell. The shield fell from the King’s grasp, scorched and no longer shining, and he grasped now his spear with both hands. The Abomination rose swiftly to tower again above his foes as his host, still pouring in great number out of the Gates, closed around him once more.

_Your valor serves me well_ , he gloated, and began a chant as old as Time itself. Gil-Galad felt the rod grow hot in his grip, and indeed it would have shattered quickly had he not thrust it at the Cruel, breaking his chant and forcing him to defend himself. He knew then that failure would doom Glorfindel his noble friend as well, lying senseless on the ground now, for behind him it did not sound like the Free Hosts of Isildur, Galadriel and Elrond would break through soon. Sauron’s blows were swift and mighty. With each swing of his sword, the air shrieked like a wraith, and with each thunderous blow his mace shook the ground. The King could do little but fly, seeking an opening as his much larger adversary sought to tire him. At length his spear found its mark, piercing the vile armor. Though its tip blackened, it did not break, and the Enemy bent his knee with a hideous cry of pain.

It was then that the rumble of a mighty army reached Ereinion’s ears. As a hailstorm, the hooves of many horses and the mighty bellows of Men and Dwarves rang from the South as they crashed through the ranks of the Shadow. Durin’s folk rode next to Men on their horses, jumping off the mounts and into the midst of monsters.  Many of them fell that day, never to see tower or cave, or husband or wife or child again, brought low by the savage swords, claws, and teeth of the horde. But before long, the encirclement of trolls was shattered, and the rider-warriors of Arnor and Gondor broke through to swell the ranks of the elves. At their head was Elendil King himself, with Narsil in his hand. It shone like a star, brighter even than the tip of Aeglos, cutting through orcs and Men and vile things alike.

These things Gil-Galad knew, even as his spear still impaled the Enemy. Sauron seized the rod, breaking it finally and casting the Elf aside as he rose one last time. Before he could be upon his prey however _,_ Nimruzîr came upon him. Swiftly Sauron turned and even as Narsil struck his left side, biting hungrily into flesh and dark steel, the black mace landed its blow upon the horse and her rider, sending them both to fly and fall and never rise again. The Enemy would not know joy for the felling of his foe, however, for even as he turned to once and for all end the Elf King he was run through. Gil-Galad, with Glorfindel’s blade, stood now before him.

With the last of his fana’s strength Sauron screamed, burning; like a hurricane his power escaped his form, shattering the Narsil-blade still stuck inside his form and casting away the last King of the Noldor in Middle Earth, who fell that day, along with his Enemy. What followed then he did not witness.


End file.
